


Good Fluff, Castiel

by jupiter_james



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Demisexual Castiel, Demisexual!Castiel, Fluffer!Castiel, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mostly Pwp, Oral Sex, Porn Star Dean, angst sprinkles, bisexual!dean, brief mentions of het sex, fluffer Castiel, literal and figurative fluff, porn star!Dean, tumblr prompt fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: Dean Winchester is a famous porn star. Castiel is his fluffer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Tumblr prompt fill. It turned out a little longer than normal, so I'm posting it here. Come and say hi to me on Tumblr! I'm [JupiterJames](http://jupiterjames.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Also, I have not edited this in the slightest.

For the line of work is was in, one would think that Castiel Novak would understand it better. Not that it takes much thinking. He just doesn't understand the appeal. Then again, he doesn't understand the appeal in a lot of things.

"How do you want it?" he asks.

Dean Winchester, bronzed and beautiful answers, "mouth fine today?"

Castiel shrugs. "Sure. I'll be right back." Of course it's okay. This is his job. He'll do what's needed. That's what they pay him for. He goes to the studio's bathroom and uses the mouthwash even though he'd just brushed his teeth and hadn't eaten anything since. It's what Dean likes, though, and the star gets his demands. That's how this thing works.

Dean's lounging on the sofa in the greenroom, robe open and grinning. He's gorgeous and he knows it. He also thinks that he has no effect on Castiel. It's a damn lie, but it helps. Castiel keeps him at arm's length and Dean enjoys the challenge. The dynamic between them makes the whole thing easier.

Castiel gets down on his knees because that's how Dean wants him. It's not really about the mouth so much, Castiel has learned. It's about the position. His expression remains blank as he opens his mouth wide and stretches his jaw. He stares at Dean as he preps himself and then leans forward. That's more for him. It's easier for Castiel to see all the micro expressions that show Dean does actually _want_ him in some way, shape, or form. He'd been _chosen_. Hand picked by the best in the industry. The only constant hands and mouth on a body that has taken more hands and mouths than he knows how to count anymore.

Dean's the best. But Castiel is, too. He bends forward, watching Dean's eyes darken, and then his senses are filled instead with the heady musk of Dean's scent and the soft skin of his dick. It's Castiel's favorite part of the day, even if he doesn't act like it. With his right hand, he gently cups Dean's balls, massaging them for a moment before stroking up the shaft with his palm. He fists the head of Dean's dick and then pumps down slowly, exposing the glans. He licks his lips then slowly, _slowly_ slips them over the head, drawing down as far as he can, keeping his tongue firm to lick down the heavy vein. Dean sighs like he's deflating after a long day, fingers tangling in Castiel's hair tightly.

There are probably several reasons that Castiel won this gig. He knows without a shred of self-congratulation, that he's attractive. People have made both kind and lewd comments about his mouth and eyes most of his life. But, the winning skills are probably his ability to want someone else's pleasure more than his own, and his total lack of a gag reflex. Dean Winchester is a challenging mouthful. He's both long and thick; perfect for porn, but hell on the throat for anyone who doesn't mark Castiel's skillset of deepthroating as a specialty. 

"Cas, that's great, man," Dean whispers as Castiel bottoms out.

Dean never uses his performing tone with Castiel. They hadn't agreed on it or anything, but it's always been this way. Normally, the Winchester Brand ™ is noisy and filthy. Most of his subscribers and fans tune in for the dirty talk. What Dean says to Castiel is the equivalent of a chaste pat on the back, but it _does_ stir something deep in Castiel's belly. It's the only thing that does.

A PA calls over from the set, "yo, Dean, you ready?"

Dean jerks his hips up once, keeping Castiel's head still and his dick brushes the back of his throat. Nice try, but Castiel is ready for it. Ready for anything. In retaliation, he hums and pulls back slowly, hard suction the whole way. When he's fully off and opens his eyes again, there's a thin sheen of sweat on Dean's forehead. His eyes glint dangerously.

"How was that?" Castiel asks casually. His voice isn't even hoarse. Damn, he's proud of himself.

"Good," Dean says shortly. Then he hops up, heavy cock bobbing, and trots over to the set. He exchanges a few words with his manager, then his costar - who has beautiful breasts, Castiel notes - then it's off to the action. Castiel sits down on the sofa, crosses his legs. And he watches.

Very few people probably fully appreciate how gorgeous Dean is when he has sex. Not many people watch him like Castiel does. Sure, the man gets paid handsomely to fuck women and men, but he's one of the few Castiel knows who truly _enjoys_ having sex. Aside from the dirty talk, his heterosexual porn is mostly in the "for women" genre, and it's easy to tell why. Dean starts off the scene with pure sensuality, and Castiel knows from watching him for two years now that he's going to focus on this woman's breasts more than he usually goes. They're natural, just a bit more than a handful, and Castiel blinks slowly when Dean presses his face between them, laving them each in turn with light kisses. The actress he's with looks genuinely turned on. Of course she is.

Time moves at an indeterminate pace while they hit their scripted marks, pause for camera changes, and then get to the action. Dean fucks the woman slowly, his trademark dirty phrases lost to Castiel's ears. At least the co isn't a screamer. For all the trends Castiel can't understand, the screaming is one of the more confusing ones. They're both so _quiet_. The director calls for a position change and Dean complies immediately, pushing up onto his elbows and rolling up to his knees. He glances towards the backstage and catches Castiel's eyes. His expression is unreadable. Castiel frowns.

Dean turns away presently and says something to the co and the director. They answer him and he moves until he's situated against the headboard. The woman straddles him, tosses her hair over her shoulder. Castiel tilts his head. There's the call back to action, and the woman seats herself on Dean's large cock, riding him high and slow. Dean strokes up her back and stares at Castiel, eyes half mast, barely blinking. Castiel can't look away. He couldn't have before, but now he couldn't have for any reason. He's snared and Dean knows it.

Dean fucks his co all the way to the come shots, barely ever breaking eye contact with Castiel. At the last moment before his body tenses in glorious ecstasy, he winks. Castiel's lips part on a gasp. Dean grins through his orgasm. 

When they're wrapped, Castiel shoots up from the couch and beats feet to the staff entrance at the far end of the soundstage. Thankfully Dean doesn't have anymore scenes today. Castiel is in his car speeding away towards home before anyone's even noticed he's gone.

He parks in the garage and rushes inside, beelining straight for the master bathroom upstairs. His heart is pounding frantically. It's never been like this before. Never. He doesn't know what to do. He can't calm down. He has to calm down. If he can't... it would be terrible. He doesn't want to be this way around Dean. He can control himself. He's always been able to. He _needs_ to be Dean's constant. It's the only thing he's ever wanted.

But now he's tearing at every last shred of self-control he'd held onto for _two years_. Ripping at his clothing, throwing himself into the shower. The ice cold water immediately makes him shiver. He's so hard. When was the last time? It doesn't matter. He strokes himself rough and quick until he comes with a choked-off cry of desperation, Dean's name in the back of his throat. It's never enough. At least he won't have a hard-on, though.

Stopping the impending panic attack is the next step in the process. Coping skills aren't necessarily Castiel's forte; it's all about the distraction. He washes and folds the laundry, unloads the dishwasher, dusts everything in the curio cabinet, rearranges his gargantuan collection of books, eats three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, scrubs the bathroom, and nearly goes out to organize the tools in his garage when the exhaustion finally hits. It's a blessing. The couch is a good enough place to fall. He sprawls out and turns on the TV at low volume. Yes, golf. That'll put him to sleep in no time.

What feels like fifteen minutes later, he wakes with a start to his cell phone ringing. It's an unfamiliar number, so he ignores it, plopping the phone onto his chest and closing his eyes again. Maybe he should move to the bed. It's getting late. A minute later his phone pings with a voicemail. Lethargically, he slides the screen on, dials his voice mail, puts in the code, and hits the speaker button, all the while leaving the phone on his chest.

"Hey, Cas." During the pause, Castiel's head comes up. Dean? Oh, no. "It's, uh... it's Dean. Winchester. You know. From work." It can't be. Dean isn't like this. He's too confident all the time for this. "Just calling to make sure you're okay. You left really quickly today. So. Just checking in. Call back if you want to." There's a slight amount of dead air and then, "'bye."

Castiel scrambles up onto his elbows. The phone slides to the floor. _What the hell was that?_ His brain simply won't process it. He'd thought... he'd thought he'd known Dean Winchester better than anyone. But he really doesn't know the man at all. _Dean's been performing for me this whole entire time._ It's... infuriating. Humiliating. He buries his face in his hands. He should have stayed at the studio. Then Dean would never have gotten curious and asked for his phone number. He never would have called. Castiel never would have learned. He hates it.

xxXXxx

The next day, Castiel quits his job. Without the courage to show up on the set, he calls Dean's manager directly and says that he's retiring. She quickly tries to get him to reconsider, but Castiel hangs up the phone before she can say anything to change his mind. He's relieved and devastated. But he won't take it back.

A week goes by and he only leaves his house to buy groceries.

His brother calls, but he doesn't answer.

He has ten missed calls from the number he won't save as Dean's. 

On Monday the calls stop.

Castiel exists during the daylight hours to breathe a sigh of relief when it's late enough to finally go to bed. 

The doorbell rings. By rote only, Castiel answers is. "No," he murmurs. His voice is rough from days of disuse. It's shameful.

Dean Winchester shoulders his way in with a stormy expression. His cologne smells like ginger. And he's got _clothes_ on. Faded jeans, a black undershirt, maroon button down. He looks spectacular. Castiel grinds his teeth.

"What the hell, man?" Dean demands.

Yes, this is better. It's not the unsure tone that's been bouncing around in Castiel's head for the past week.

"I assume your manager informed you that I quit."

Dean turns on his heel slowly, arms crossed over his chest. "I didn't approve that."

How is his teeth grinding not audible? "It's not your decision."

Dean takes a step forward. Another. Castiel's own feet fail to move him backwards before his personal space is invaded. Dean pokes him in the chest. "How is it not? I chose you. Hand picked you. And you _quit_? Without saying anything to me?"

"I'm sorry, Dean," he says neutrally while his insides are roiling. "But it's how things need to be. It's not like my job is difficult. Anyone who's comfortable with a cock in his mouth can do what I do. Hire someone else."

"No," Dean says flatly. 

"It's not your decision," he repeats.

"There's no one else good enough," Dean says softly enough that it edges towards that strange tone on the voicemail that Castiel hates.

He swallows. "That's not my fault."

"It fucking _is_." This time when Dean steps forward, Castiel is able to step back. "Cas, what did I do to make you quit? I know it was me, so don't bother saying it wasn't. What did I do? I'll fix it."

 _You can't. You turned me on_. "There's nothing to fix."

"Then stop fucking around and come back to me." His eyes have never looked like this before. Sincere.

 _There's nothing to come back to_. "I can't." Another step backward that Dean follows forward.

"Why not?"

"Because I..." He can't. He wants it too badly now. His back is against the wall. Literally and figuratively.

Dean's right hand presses against the wall firmly right next to his ear. He's gentle about it, but Castiel still flinches. "The last time on set..." he trails off like he doesn't want to continue. Castiel sincerely hopes he doesn't, but that's not how Dean is. "Something was different. At the end. You always watch. I know you are, even when I can't see you, but you like to watch, don't you?"

Silently, Castiel nods.

Dean leans in. "I like it, too." His eyes rake over every inch of Castiel's face. He's not sure they've ever stood this close before. "You're always... intense. It's like you're the one person I can't do anything for. Drives me crazy, but I like it." 

Castiel shivers violently. 

"It turns you on," Dean says with a breath of wonder.

"I failed you. It was my job and I..."

Dean's hands are on his. It's a simple touch that is more sensual than anything he's experienced from Dean thus far. "You didn't!" Dean shuffles another step. His sinful lips are brushing the shell of Castiel's ear. It makes his body flash hot. His voice is just the barest thread of a whisper. "I've been trying for two years to get you to want me like I want you, Cas. We've always played by your rules. And I was fine with it until you changed the game."

 _That's impossible._ "Dean." He's not sure it makes a sound. His entire focus has been drawn down to a point. He's getting hard again.

Dean's lips slide down his neck to his shoulder. Not kissing. Not even pressure. Just _touch_. "Do you really wanna stop?"

A soft sob breaks out of Castiel's throat. "No," he groans miserably.

It breaks his heart when Dean pulls back, though he doesn't let go of Castiel's hands. His green eyes are soft when he says, "where's your bedroom?"

Shaking, Castiel nods towards the stairs. "The loft."

Dean walks them backwards up each stair into the bedroom, not breaking eye contact for a second. He halts at the top. "Stay there," he says.

Castiel obeys. He's still trying to figure out why Dean said that this was all about him. These weren't his rules. Not by a long shot. It's a call and response now. He'll do anything.

Dean lounges back on the bed. Kicks his shoes off. Slides up until he's against the headboard. "Watch me," he says.

Castiel makes an aborted movement, hand halfway raised. "I don't want you to-"

"I'm not," Dean insists. "It's just me." He removes his overshirt. "Just you." The black undershirt is tossed aside. "No cameras." He unbuckles his belt. "You've never seen me before for real." The jeans and boxers hang off the side of the bed. "But you're going to. Then you can decide."

There's no lube, but there's expensive non-scented hand lotion. Dean squirts a generous amount into his hand. He stares at Castiel. He touches himself without preamble. Nothing fancy about it. He rubs his thumb over the head, swipes down with a twist of his wrist at the base. Then back up. He licks his lips as his breath hitches.

It's all so... _different_. Without the dirty talk, Castiel can hear the slickness of Dean's dick as it slides through his fist. His breathing is ragged and loud. On each down stroke now, Dean brushes a finger towards the cleft of his ass. Lower every time over his balls. Barely breaching himself.

Castiel stumbles to the bed. Dean reaches his free hand out. Castiel grips it tightly. He collapses to his knees on the mattress. Dean's head tilts up. "Cas," he breathes brokenly.

Kissing Dean Winchester is almost too much to deal with. Castiel has seen it happen perhaps a hundred times now, so he knows what to do. Sort of. Dean switches directions, though. Castiel should have expected it after everything else tonight. Dean pulls Castiel close, but doesn't let him deepen the kiss at all. It's obscenely chaste. Dean only opens his mouth to let out a tiny cry as he comes. It's the first time Castiel hasn't watched it. But he can _feel_ it. It's so much better. He's drunk on the sensation so much that he doesn't notice Dean turning him gently onto his back. He's only vaguely aware of his clothes coming off under Dean's skilled hands.

"Can I?"

Castiel stares up at him owlishly. "Yes," he murmurs. "Yes."

For as clean as the first kiss was, Dean's mouth on his neck is dirty. Teeth and tongue, trailing down, down, down. The second they touch his dick, Castiel's back bows off the bed.

"Hold on to me," Dean commands.

Castiel's hands grab at Dean's hair in a vice-like grip he's certain hurts, but to Dean it's nothing. He moans against the base of Castiel's dick, lips picking their way up leisurely to the head. His tongue swirls around twice, dipping beneath the foreskin. Then his lotion and come-slicked hand stroke down at the same time his hot mouth follows, swallowing Castiel almost to the base.

He can't help it. Desperately he wishes that he could be polite, but his hips buck almost on their own. Thankfully, Dean knows what to do. He moves with every thrust, matching it with a draw upwards of lips and hand. 

Something wild bursts in Castiel's chest among all of the warring sensations trying to capture his attention. It's what he feared from the very beginning and why Dean thinks all of this is just a game to him. It's never been anywhere near that. Castiel's obsession with Dean Winchester goes so far beyond the set and the voyeurism. From before they'd even known each other at all. Back when Castiel had been content as a PA. Dean doesn't remember, but Castiel has been there since the very beginning. Back when Dean read every one of Kurt Vonnegut's books one after the other during the long breaks on set. When he'd talk cheerfully to his college-age brother on the phone, always concerned with the kid's grades. How Castiel had seen him once in his dressing room before leaving for the night holding an old picture in his hands and smiling at it gently before tucking it back into his wallet.

The person going down on him now is _that_ Dean Winchester. And _that_ Dean Winchester makes Castiel's toes curl. He wishes it could last forever this way, but the waves of pleasure are getting harder to ignore. Dean's mouth is hot. Skilled. It's so much to take it. Castiel screams Dean's name as he comes hard down his throat. Dean swallows around him and it makes Castiel shudder at the over-stimulation. Suddenly, he can see the appeal of screaming.

It's difficult to recover. He can't even open his eyes. 

There are gentle hands on his body. At first they make electricity shoot over his nerve endings, but then it's nice. It grounds him.

A soft voice murmuring over and over. The same word he can't process for a minute. Oh. It's his name. In quiet reverence. "Cas. Cas. Hey, come back to me, babe. Open those pretty blue eyes for me, Cas. I didn't kill you did I?"

He chuckles. Presses his knuckles against his lips to keep it in. But it just echoes in his chest, filling up the empty spaces. 

Dean is laughing with him. Against him. Pressing kisses over his shoulders, neck, mouth when Castiel finally removes his fist.

Kissing is the best part. Dean lets him delve as deeply as he wants this time. In fact, they put their everything into it. Gradually, Castiel is distracted thinking that Dean is kissing him a little too desperately. Castiel has to push Dean back with both hands on his cheeks. "It's okay, Dean," he says.

"How?" Dean asks. His soft expression is at war with his tone. "Tell me how. How is it okay that you just left like that?"

It's not the right thing to say, but he answers, "people quit their jobs all the time."

Dean rolls up to a sitting position. Castiel already misses his warmth. "Yeah, but was that all it was? I know I got no room to talk in my line of work. Still."

Castiel sits up close to Dean. "I know. I'm so sorry. I regret it now, even though it was the right thing to do." He lays his head on Dean's shoulder, glad when he doesn't shove him off. "I did fine for two years. Then... you _noticed_ me."

With a humorless laugh, Dean says, "I've always noticed you, man. That's why... well, that's why everything. I should be the one apologizing."

"Would you like to go out with me?" Castiel asks against Dean's shoulder blade.

Dean turns his head. "Wait, what?"

Lifting his head, Castiel smiles, "I want to go out with you. On dates. Dean. I quit because I don't think I can separate my work life and my private life anymore. I care about you. Maybe I should have told you, but I thought you..."

Dean turns his shoulders. "No, I do. I get it. Understand it now. Cas, you..." He hangs his head with a grin. "You're fucking stupid. Of course I wanna go out with you. Jesus, I've been gone on you for a long damn time."

"So, we're...?" He hesitates.

"Yeah." Dean kisses him again. "Let's do this thing." He turns fully, pulling Castiel into his lap. "You sure you're okay with it? I mean, with my chosen career? I ain't retiring."

Castiel noses against Dean's neck, breathing him in. "It's just sex. I'm not so partial to it myself, except maybe with you. I don't care about that part. I never did."

Dean bares his neck for more of Castiel's lips. "You're open minded."

"Only if you promise to come home to me."

"Every night," Dean murmurs as he goes limp against Castiel's gentle explorations. 

"Fall in love with me."

Brilliant green eyes open and fix on Castiel. "Dude, I already _have_."

Castiel kisses him again and again. It's all he's really wanted. More than he's hoped for. The happiness that floods him is the brightest feeling he's ever had. They're going to be just fine.


End file.
